


Cold As Stone

by badskippy



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Amnesia Thorin, M/M, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-07 03:33:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6783511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskippy/pseuds/badskippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gifted to him by his mother, Kili believed that his rune stone was 'just a token' ... something to remind Kili of his promise to come back to her. </p><p>What he failed to understand was that the stone was more than a simple token ... and it was meant to RETURN Kili to his mother ... for a mother's love would not let anything take her son from her ... not even death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neeka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neeka/gifts).



> This comes from THIS tumbler post ... [Kili's Rune Stone](http://badskippy.tumblr.com/post/143966015501/in-relation-to-everything-we-know-about-d%C3%ADs) ... Check it out.
> 
> Also ... this prompt ... [Bilbo and Thorin Forgets](http://badskippy.tumblr.com/post/139007760181/alkjira-okay-hear-me-out-someone-gets-a) ... comes in to play here

* * *

 

 

           

            In every Dwarrow settlement and kingdom, there is a space. In the beginning, the earliest ones were naturally made – small caves, preferably at the heart of the mountain. In time, if natural ones were unsuitable or unavailable, the space was made; carved smooth with a small footprint but a towering ceiling, perfect for a God.

            For it was in these spaces that Dwarrow came to worship.   

            A great statue of Mahal, also called Lord Aule by others in Middle-Earth, graced one side of the chapel, so that the males of the race could kneel and pray, call upon their creator for gifts of strength and inspiration, gifts of crafting and metal work, and generally become one with the Valar that fashioned them in his own image.       

            On the other side of the room, another statue stood, usually made of white marble or other pale stone. This statue was smaller, less conspicuous, less ostentatious, but no less valued nor ignored. It here that the Dwarrowdams would work their magic, connected to the beautiful lady that statue honored; Yavanna Kementári, Giver of Fruits and all things that grew.

            Myth had it that while Mahal created the Dwarrow’s bodies, their very race, and taught them their love of metal and stone, invented their language and built the very mountains for them to live in, it was The Green Lady, Lady Yavanna, that gave them the world to feed from and all the joys of creation; she help create the Dwarrowdams. And through the Dwarrowdams, Yavanna's magic of procreation and life came to the Dwarrow.

            Is it any wonder that Dwarrows kept their Dams secret and safe, protected from other races and sheltered them from harm?

            Hardly surprising.

            But like many of the other races, Dwarrows slowly forgot the little details.

            Over time, Dwarrow stopped worshipping at the feet of their creator. They expressed their love of Mahal through their crafts, with hammer and anvil, forge and fire, sword and axe; what need had they to kneel before a statue when their work spoke for their heart and soul.  Most never set foot inside the chapels within their lifetime and others didn't even know the room existed.  In fact, Dwarrow forgot that their women could weave magic like threads of cloth. True, the Dwarrow continued to protect and shelter their women folk, but they forgot why they did it. They forgot about Yavanna’s gifts and, in time, paid little attention to their All-Father’s wife.           

            Magic was for hiding; secret doors, moon runes, curses on weapons, spells on hordes – all this they knew and did.

            Yet magic for life and love? That was Elf-speak and not to be spoken of.

            Or even thought about.

            Certainly not remembered.

            But what the Dwarrow forgot, the Dwarrowdams did not. Like so much about them, the Dams kept their magic secret and safe, even from their men-folk and they continued to weave their magic to protect life whenever they could.

            This, is where our story begins.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

 

 

 

            It had been a perfectly, normal day.

            There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky, the sun was bright, the breeze cool, no worries, few cares, plenty of food and not a single peep from Lobelia in months.

            Perfection.     

            Bilbo had taken every advantage. He’d indulged himself and slept in late. He had second breakfast in the back garden, insisting that his gardener and dear friend, Hamfast Gamgee, join him. He’d puttered about the house all afternoon, making notes and jotting down memories of his adventure; he planned on writing out his journey someday, completely. He tried out a new knitting pattern for a light lap blanket with a new, finer wool he’d purchased specifically for the project. His longest renting and best tenant farmer had brought him a beautiful Trout as a way of thanking Bilbo for another good year; Bilbo had even opened a bottle of his father’s good wine to have with the delicious fish.

            Now, with the golden orb of the sun sinking closer and closer to the horizon’s edge, Bilbo breathed deeply, inhaling the sweet scent of Honeysuckle and Lavender, and releasing a sigh. He was near to contentment.

            Not completely content, mind you, but almost.

            Almost if he ignored the slight twinge in his chest, that pull he still felt in his heart even after a year, if he refused to think back on bright blue eyes and a deep voice, he could absolutely convince himself he was content.

            But it was so hard not to think back.

           

_‘What are you doing?’_

_‘Nothing,’ Bilbo said, only barely turning towards the voice behind him, before lifting his face once more to the sky and inhaling. He’d been stuck inside for the last several days with a head cold. Now that he was feeling better, he just had to get fresh air._

_Thorin chuckled as he reclined against the doorframe behind Bilbo. ‘Very well, what are doing while you’re doing nothing?’_

_Bilbo giggled, not turning to look this time. ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’_

_‘Getting drunk.’_

_‘Excuse me?’ Bilbo’s eye flew open and he couldn’t help but gape a little at Thorin._

_Thorin smirked, clearly pleased that Bilbo fell for the ruse and looked at him. ‘Getting drunk. On the night air, that is.’_

_Bilbo smiled. ‘I can’t argue that point.’_

_‘So what has you so drunk?’ Thorin stepped up next to Bilbo and mimicked the Hobbit, as they both leaned on the railing of the balcony outside the rooms the Master of Laketown had gifted the company._

_‘Take a breath,’ Bilbo said quietly. ‘Tell me what you smell.’_

_Thorin drew a deep breath in.   ‘Fish.’_

_Bilbo giggled again. ‘Is that all you smell?’_

_Thorin made a dramatic show of drawing another breath, trying to make Bilbo laugh. ‘More fish.’_

_Bilbo laughed and Thorin smiled._

_‘Try once more,’ Bilbo said, leaning closer to, but not daring to touch, Thorin. ‘But try it slower ... try and separate the different smells ... find the sweetness on the air.’_

_Thorin nodded. Breathing in a languorous breath, he stilled, taking a few deep sniffs. ‘What is that?’_

_‘Primrose.’_

_Thorin hummed a reply._

_‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’_

_Thorin nodded. ‘I remember my mother growing them in Erebor. But I thought they bloomed in spring?’_

_‘In the wild ... outside ... they do.’_

_‘But it is almost the end of_ _'afakrâgyan?’_

_‘End of what?’_

_‘'afakrâgyan ... the last month of the Dwarrow Calendar. Durin’s day is the start of our new year and that is but a few weeks away.’_

_‘Oh, I see.’_

_‘So ... I am wrong?’_

_‘No ... not exactly ... Primrose does bloom in Spring ... and the Summer. However, it will bloom through Autumn ... right up to Winter, if protected indoors. I will bet you someone nearby has it in a pot and they’ve placed it on their windowsill.’_

_Thorin nodded. ‘Is there an advantage to doing such a thing? Plants in pots that is.’_

_‘Primrose makes a lovely tea; so I’m not surprised someone keeps it inside and protected. Plus, it’s always nice to have potted plants to make a home feel cozy.’_

_‘You didn’t have potted plants in your home and yet it was cozy.’_

_‘I had herbs ... in pots ... in the kitchen.’_

_Thorin shrugged but didn’t say anything._

_Bilbo blushed, just as a shiver ran through him as Thorin’s arm brushed against his, quite by accident Bilbo was sure._

_‘You’re cold.’ Thorin said softly._

_‘I’m okay.’ He was only a bit cold, but that wasn’t why he shivered; he’d never tell Thorin the reason why._

_‘Come inside,’ Thorin stated, as he put his cloak about Bilbo’s shoulders._

_‘I’m fine. Really.’ Bilbo tried to give the cloak back. He didn’t want to give Thorin any suspicion of his feelings. They were friends. That was all._

_‘You aren’t.’ Thorin stepped back, refusing to take the cloak. ‘Come, we’ll ask the proprietor to bring tea.’_

_‘You don’t have to fuss.’_

_‘It’s no fuss,’ Thorin insisted. ‘We can ill afford our burglar getting sick again when we are so close to our goal.’_

_Bilbo nodded._

_They were employer and employee._

_They were leader and follower._

_They were Dwarf and Hobbit._

_They were barely friends._

_They were nothing more._

_Nothing._

Oh, Bilbo was so wrong. He realized now that the night was chilly and the breeze a bit stagnant, the pests were out and the birds were long gone.

            It was really just an ordinary day.

            Far from perfect.

            Perfect had left the world months before.

            Bilbo rubbed his hands on the back of his arms; even with his jacket on, he was cold. He went inside, closing the door behind him and headed for the kitchen. There was mint, freshly picked that afternoon, on the counter and it would make a soothing tea. Perhaps he’d even go to bed early. Yes, that sounded right; sleep. Maybe he’d sleep in late again tomorrow morning, let the dreams take him away. Dream of things that might have been but can never be.

            On second thought, maybe he shouldn’t dream.

            Bilbo added a healthy splash of Rosemary Smallacre’s home brewed whiskey to his tea; that ought to chase away a good many dreams. And if it didn’t, he wouldn’t care come morning.

            Bilbo was just sitting down beside the fire, his knitting in his hand and his mug of tea on the table next to his chair, when there came a heavy knock. He sighed; couldn’t his neighbor’s and family leave him be after the sun set?! Honestly.

            The knock came again, more insistent.

            “I’m coming,” Bilbo called out, tossing his knitting on the seat of the other chair and pulled down on the edge of his waistcoat; he might as well look respectable if nothing else.

            “Yes?” Bilbo asked as he swung the front door open.

            The being stood in the shadows, clad in a dark cloak that hid its face.  The hairs on Bilbo’s neck stood up; he should have armed himself, he should have taken Sting down from above the mantel. He was just taking a step back when his visitor reached up and pulled the hood of the cloak down.   

            Bilbo was rooted to the spot, nearly breathless.

            “Hello, Master _Boggins_.”

            _Kili!_ It couldn’t be. It just _couldn’t_ be! But there was no denying what was right before him.

            “I bet you weren't expecting me.”

            Bilbo would have laughed if he’d been able to. But before Bilbo could do anything other than gape, another figure came out of the shadows.

            “Hello, Bilbo.”

            _Fili!_ No. No. It just wasn’t possible. It wasn’t!

            “Won’t you invite us in?”

            How does one invite in ghosts or specters - _shades_ \- in one’s home?! Bilbo’s voice would not come, but his mind was near screaming. _You’re dead! I saw you with my own eyes! I touched your cold bodies! You were dead. Both of you! And your unc—_

            “Beloved.”

            Bilbo knew now he was insane; as mad as everyone in the Shire thought him to be. Mad Baggins indeed!

            “Thorin,” Bilbo whispered as the Dwarf, _his Dwarf_ , seemed to materialize out of the darkness behind the boys and pushed his way past the young Dwarrow and right into Bag End’s foyer.

            The brilliant smile that spread across Thorin’s face was unmatched by any brilliance the sun could offer. And it was fortunate that Thorin’s strong arms reached out for Bilbo, because, even in the midst of his madness, Bilbo hated the idea of fainting to the floor.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

 

 **_'Af-mahd-danakh_  ** _(6th month of the Dwarrow Calendar)_ **,** **_2941_ **

**(6 weeks before the start of The Quest for Erebor)**

 

 

            “Where’s your mother?”

            “She said she had to go out,” Kili said, shrugging his shoulders.

            “ _Now_?!” Thorin was astonished and a little annoyed.

            “Said she needed something,” Fili added, looking as confused as Thorin and shrugging like Kili.  "Said she couldn't wait."

            “Couldn’t wait ... _for what_?” Thorin demanded.

            Both boys shook their heads, adopting matching innocent looks.

            Thorin wasn’t fooled. “Did you say anything to her?”

            Fili looked everywhere but at Thorin while Kili flushed a little and smiled, apologetically.

            “ _Fas_!” Thorin could’ve chewed granite. “You told her, did you?!”

            Kili’s flush deepened but he didn’t answer.

            “I _told you_ to wait!” Thorin sighed; he should have known Kili wouldn’t keep quiet. “ _Kakhf_... now she will have weeks to fret and try and talk you out of going!”

            “No!” Kili shouted. “Please don’t let her make me stay behind!”

            “Well, that will be a bit difficult now, won’t it?” Thorin asked sarcastically. “Seeing how I’m _leaving_ today!” He had to leave. Thorin only had six weeks in which to travel north, met with kin, discuss the quest, persuade them to join and still make it to Hobbiton. Thorin had his doubts about Gandalf’s choice of burglar – _a Hobbit ... of all creatures_ – but he trusted the old Grey Pilgrim and so he would just have to trust in the wizard’s decision.

            “Uncle, please,” KIli pleaded; begged really. “You have to talk to her!”

            “Unless she arrives back within the next few hours,” Thorin stated. “It’ll be too late.”

            “But ... but ... I _can’t_ stay behind! I have to go!”

            “You should have thought of that before you blabbed.”

            “I told you to keep quiet,” Fili said, shaking his head at Kili.

            “I belong with _you_ ,” Kili insisted, giving Fili an imploring look. “You’ll have to convince her, if Uncle can’t!”

            “And what makes you think she will listen to me any more than she will listen to him?” Fili let loose a disbelieving laugh. “Guess again.”

            “But—”

            “If you truly wish to go,” Thorin said, “you will have to convince her yourself.”

            “Uncle’s right,” Fili added.

            Kili chewed his lower lip, worried at his chances. “Fas.”

           

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

**_Five Weeks Later_ **

 

            Two enormous iron braziers, one on either side of the statue of Yavanna, burned bright and hot with their pyramids of coals aflame; rippling the air with their heat. In the floor before the effigy was carved a circular groove, a ring if you will, as wide as an average Dwarf was tall and filled with coarse salt. Just outside the salted circle were candles of various sizes and diameters, but all a deep yellow-ivory color and all lit, casting dancing shadows upon the walls in the small chapel.

            But it was the figure kneeling in the center of the ring of salt and candles that one would have been drawn to watch; if another mortal had been there. Dis pressed her hands together in prayer, he head bowed, sweat dripping down her face, her arms, even staining the floor about her if it didn’t drip onto her clothes instead. The runestone she’d made resting on the stone before her. She didn’t look at the statute of the All-Father’s wife, nor needed to. She chanted low and continuously, so fast in fact, that her words were strung together in one long chain of unbroken syllables.

            She was out of time.

            The hardest task had been to find the stone itself. It was rare, even among Dwarves, and she knew it would be difficult to get a hold of. She visited every stone and gem seller she knew or thought might have it; nothing. She asked her sisters in her circle; nothing. She even asked those in other circles; again, nothing. Many told her to give it up; she’d never find it and it would cost her dearly.

            She didn’t care.

            In the end, it took her three weeks and she ended up having to buy it from a traveling merchant of Men, who in turn had gotten the small stone from a seafaring merchant of Elves; she dared not mention that last bit to anyone. It cost her far more than gold but she wouldn’t mention that either.

            _Aurorastone_ , or Dawn’s Stone, the race of Men called it.

            _Gond Aduial-Galad_ , or Gem of the Evening Light, was it’s Elvish name.

            But, to the Dwarrow, it was – _id-manl'urs'aban_ – the Sky Fire Stone. There wasn’t another stone like it and it was it’s very properties that required she have it; it protected from misfortunes of the living world while aiding in the connection between the realm of life and death, it tempered reckless behavior while grounding the beholder to the present. Her sisters told her it was a bold and dangerous choice to make a runestone with such a stone.

            But again, she didn’t care.

            It took another week to carefully etch the runes into the stone; there could be no error.  However, that left only a week before the boys left for The Shire! Now, with only two days left, Dis poured all she had into the stone. What should have been a long, gentle ritual, taking weeks to weave and cast, became an intense and fervent charm, a vehement prayer, a fierce spell against all that Dis feared.

            _Go gently child._

            Dis would swear she heard the Great Mother speaking to her.

            _You tread where no mortal should go._

            Dis stopped her chanting and gulped great breathes. “I can’t stop, Mother. I must do this.”

            _Dear one, I urge you to cease._

            Dis shook her head. “I’m sorry,” Dis whispered to no one.

            Quick as a flash, before she could hear an order to reconsider, Dis drew her Athamé from her belt. She never hesitated; she cut her left palm, saying, “izridab hû.” Then cut her right palm, chanting, “mahinsis hû.” As the blood dripped down her hands and over her wrists to fall on the floor before her, she picked up the stone and, cupping her hands around it, began to chant the same two phrases over and over and over.

            “ _izridab hû”_

_“mahinsis hû”_

            Not long, as before, the words ran together as she chanted faster and faster.

_izridab hû mahinsis hû izridab hû mahinsis hû izridab hû mahinsis hû_ _izridab hû mahinsis hû izridab hû mahinsis hû izridab hû mahinsis hû_

_izridab hû mahinsis hû izridab hû mahinsis hû izridab hû mahinsis hû_ _izridab hû mahinsis hû izridab hû mahinsis hû izridab hû mahinsis hû_

The fires burned, the candles slowly melted, the salt sparkled in the light and still Dis chanted even as the blood dried about the stone in her hands and her sweat dripped onto the floor.

            And she pretended she did not hear The Great Mother weep for her.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

**_Bag End, The Shire_ **

           

            Bilbo sat calmly, or as calmly as he could, in his chair by the fire. He stared into the flames but he didn’t see them, not really. His mind raced with question after question but he still had no answers, only more questions.

            “Here, Bilbo.” Kili appeared next to Bilbo’s chair, a cup of tea in an outstretched hand, a hand that reached as far as it could go because it was clear he didn’t want to come too close to the master of the house.

            “Thank you,” Bilbo said quietly, turning his head in Kili’s direction but not looking at the young Dwarrow, and taking the cup that was offered. Bilbo was perfectly aware of Fili and Thorin sitting across the room on the seat beneath the parlour’s huge, front window but he couldn’t look at them anymore than he could look at Kili. If he did, he feared he’d only faint again.

            _Just breathe, boy. Just breathe._ Bilbo thought, taking slow, deep breathes and holding on the hot cup of tea like a one who clutched at the edge of a cliff they were about to fall over.

            It was Kili who tried to break through. “Bilbo—”

            “HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!” Bilbo screamed out. He hadn’t meant to but it just exploded out of him. “How did this happen?!”

            “We’re not sure—”

            “Was it all a lie?!” Bilbo demanded, slamming the cup down on the table next to him, spitting some of it, but finally turning a glare onto the three Dwarves.

            “No!” Kili insisted. “No, it wa—”

            “Because if it was, you’d better tell me truth _right now_!”

            “We swear, it wasn’t—”

            “Are you angry?” Thorin asked softly, cutting off his nephew.

            “Am I _angry_?!” Bilbo sounded almost maniacal even to himself.

            “You are.”

            “Well, congratulations, Thorin!” Bilbo released a hollow laugh. “It only took you apparently coming back from the dead for you to finally understand how I feel!” Bilbo was feeling so many things at once; disbelief, fear, elation, relief, suspicion, wonder, worry, and yes, anger.  “You’re damn right I’m angry!”

            Bilbo threw a heated glare at his Dwarf, fully expecting Thorin to glare back, yell, snarl, _scowl_ in that irritatingly wonderful way that Bilbo loved. But Bilbo got quite a different reaction. Thorin looked crushed, hurt and instead of countering Bilbo’s exclamation, he stood and made for the front door.

            “Thorin ...”

            Thorin ignored Bilbo’s call, simply walking out of Bag End, leaving the front door open wide.

            Kili started to stand but Fili held up a hand and stopped him. “I’ll go,” Fili said. “I understand his position better.” Fili followed after his uncle, closing the round door behind him.

            Kili sat back down, looking tired and defeated. “It’s hard for uncle, Bilbo.”

            “It’s hard _for him_?!”

            Kili nodded. “I’m not saying it’s not hard for you ...”

            “Thank you for that.”

            “... but uncle is truly suffering.”

            Bilbo stilled at that. “What do you mean by, suffering?”

            Kili looked far sadder than Bilbo had ever seen the carefree young Dwarf. “Because all he remembers, is you.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuz-dul Translations:
> 
> Fas - Sex (Fuck)  
> Kakhf - Excrement (Shit)  
> ablâkh'aban - Runestone  
> id-manl'urs'aban - Sky Fire Stone (modern Labradorite)  
> Athamé - A black handled knife used by Witches in their craft  
> izridab hû - Protect (by magic) Him  
> mahinsis hû - Save Him
> 
> \-------------------------
> 
> I got the Elvish wording from here - http://www.bladesofanarion.net/index.php?page=17
> 
> \-------------------------
> 
> Labradorite - http://www.crystalvaults.com/crystal-encyclopedia/labradorite  
> Labradorite is ... the most powerful protector of the mineral kingdom, creating a shielding force throughout the aura and strengthening natural energies from within. It protects against the negativity and misfortunes of this world, and provides safe exploration into alternate levels of consciousness and in facilitating visionary experiences from the past or the future ... It provides an ease in moving between the worlds, and permits a safe and grounded return to the present ... It assists in reducing anti-social, reckless or impulsive behavior in children, teenagers and adults who are easily led into trouble by others


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili finally give some kind of explanation ... kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-ed ... i will edit it later

* * *

 

 

            “Don’t be ridiculous,” Bilbo said, standing up and taking his teacup into the kitchen.

            “I’m not lying,” Kili insisted, following.

            “I didn’t say you were lying,” Bilbo said.

            “But you don’t believe me.”

            “I wouldn’t even say _that_.” Bilbo primed the water pump so he could wash up. “I just think you’re ... _exaggerating_ the situation.”

            “You don’t understand,” Kili said softly as he sat down at the kitchen table.

            Bilbo turned around. “What’s to understand? I’m not surprised he wouldn’t remember dy—” Bilbo couldn’t say the word; the image of Thorin lying still and lifeless was too much; he didn’t even want to remember it so thank Yavanna if Thorin had forgotten it.

            “It’s far more than that.”

            _Far more?_ “What did Balin and the others say?”

            “They don’t know and it doesn’t matter anyway in the end.”

            “Why doesn’t it?”

            “Bilbo,” Kili released a hollow laugh. “I meant _exactly_ what I said; Uncle doesn’t remember anything ... or any _one_ ... not Balin, not Dwalin ... no one ... except ...” Kili gestured with his hand towards Bilbo.

            The implication was sinking in now and Bilbo just shook his head in disbelief. “That’s insane.” He and Thorin were ... they were friends. That’s all. Well, that’s all he was to Thorin; Bilbo was sure of it. “It’s mad.”

            Kili cocked an eyebrow. “More mad than rising from the dead?”

            “He knows you and your brother?!” _Doesn’t he?_

            Kili shook his head. “Only because we’ve told him repeatedly over and over the last five months. I’m not sure how much he actually believes us.”

            Bilbo’s head was starting to throb and they had basically circled back to where they were a bit ago. “How is this ... _any of this_ ... even possible?!” Bilbo demanded.

            “I’m not really sure,” Kili said, reaching into his leather jerkin. “But it has something to do with this.” Kili pulled out a smooth, oval stone. “This is—”

            “Your runestone,” Bilbo said quietly.

            Kili was clearly surprised. “How in the name of Mahal do you know that?! Other than Fili, I only ever showed it to—”

            “Tauriel,” Bilbo said.

            Now Kili was shocked. “You _met_ Tauriel?!”

            Bilbo nodded gravely.

            “When did you—”

            “Right after the battle,” Bilbo said, almost a whisper. “She and Thranduil brought your body down from Ravenhill.”

            “Thranduil?! As in King of the Woodland Realm?!”

            Bilbo nodded again. “None other. He seemed quite somber. He looked ancient ... not that he’d aged, but the look in his eyes ... like the battle had cost him a lifetime.” Bilbo sat down at the table. “I overheard him telling Tauriel that she was forgiven ... whatever that meant ... and that he’d lost ‘one child’ and he didn’t want to loose another. But ... while she seemed to accept his words, she told him she couldn’t go back ... _‘like time, there was no going back’_ she said.”

            Kili looked stricken. “Do you ... do you know what happened to her?”

            Bilbo shook his head. “She left soon after we talked. I never saw her again.”

            Kili sighed but said nothing.

            “When she ...” Bilbo took a breath before continuing. “Brought your body down to the camp, your runestone fell out of your hand.”

            “I’d given it to her,” Kili said. “How did it—”

            “She placed it in your hand,” Bilbo said. “She seemed reluctant to talk about it, but she asked me to please make sure it was buried with you. She told me the story that your mother had given it to you so that you would remember your promise to come back to her.”

            Kili nodded.

            “She didn’t say ... but I have a feeling that Tauriel wanted you to have it back so that ... that you would come back _to her_ someday.”

            “You think she knew?”

            Bilbo looked perplexed for a second before he shook his head. “I meant that metaphorically, not literally.”

            Kili nodded; he understood.

            Bilbo gently, placed a hand over one of Kili’s. “It was obvious she loved you very much,”

            Kili’s look turned a little sly, and he teased, “Like you and Uncle.”

            Bilbo drew back his hand and sat up a stiffly. “We were only—”

            “You loved each other.”

            “As friends. Friends. That’s all we—”

            “Bullshit. You _still_ love each other.”

            Bilbo sighed, deflating. “Kili ... please don’t—”

            “You might be able to fool someone else,” Kili said tersely, “but not me. I saw it ... for Mahal’s sake, _we all_ saw it!”

            Bilbo wasn’t sure what to say to that. He thought he’d been so clever, so discrete. Of course, he suspected that Balin had known; whether he had been told or had figured it out, Balin never said, but there was a moment when Bilbo left that much passed between the old Dwarf and Bilbo that clearly didn’t need to be voice.

            But Bilbo didn’t want to dwell on all that.

            “So ...” Bilbo cleared his throat, changing the subject. “Why do you think the runestone is the reason for your ...” _what was the right word?_ “... your ... awakening?”

            Kili sat still for a few long moments. His face was passive but to Bilbo, many things played in the young Dwarf’s eyes. Bilbo could forgive him; how does one tell another what it was like to wake from the dead?

            “I didn’t know, at first how long I’d been there. Frankly, I didn’t even know where I was or what had happened. The last thing I could recall was rushing to Tauriel as she fought that great Orc—”

            “Bolg,” Bilbo supplied. “Azog’s son.”

            “Really?”

            Bilbo nodded, somberly “She told me that. It was he that ...” Again, Bilbo could bring himself to speak of Kili’s death.

            Kili nodded, clearly knowing the truth. “Anyway, I just figured I’d been knocked out by the beast and had only come to.”

            Bilbo could see it that way.

            “However,” Kili said with a sigh, “I quickly realized that it wasn’t just in the dark but entombed.”

            Bilbo shivered at the thought; waking in one’s own resting place, covered by a stone lid.

            “I wasn’t scared, mind you,” Kili insisted. “I just knew I had to get out.”

            “Naturally.”

            “I pushed with my legs and hands and, after a few minutes, got the lid to slide enough to one side that I could get my fingers through the opening along the edge and then slide the whole thing off.”

            Again, Bilbo was shivered; the mental image was as unsettling as the tale itself.

            “The resounding crash of the lid was so loud and the echo seemed to continue for ages. But, while it was bizarre to wake in my own sacophagus, it was even more so to look over and see Fili’s and Uncle Thorin’s.”

            Bilbo wasn’t surprised at that.

            “It was at that moment, though, that I felt something hot touching me.”

            “Hot?”

            Kili nodded. “I reached under my clothes and found the runestone. It was almost too hot to hold.”

            How odd, Bilbo thought. “I remember it being cold like a shard of glass or ice.”

            “I’m telling you, it was hot.” Kili rolled the stone about in his hand; clearly much cooler now. “How did it even get there?”

            Bilbo closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard at memories. “I put it there.”

            “You?!”

            “We ... the company,” Bilbo said softly, “were given the ... honor, if you will ... of ... of, uhm ...” Bilbo had to stop for a moment and breathe.

            “They had you dress us for burial,” Kili said what Bilbo couldn’t.

            Bilbo nodded.

            “It is considered a great honor for anyone other than the immediately family to prepare a Dwarf for burial.”

            “Honor it may be,” Bilbo said, his voice small and fragile. “But I found that I couldn’t do it for your uncle.”

            “Of course you couldn’t,” Kili said, reaching out to give Bilbo’s hand a quick squeeze. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for you.”

            Bilbo opened his mouth to answer but what could he say? Difficult didn’t even being to encompass what he had felt at that time. He had cleaned Thorin’s face and washed his hair but as Balin, Gloin and Dwalin begun to remove Thorin’s bloodstained battle clothes, Bilbo had become overwhelmed and he could do no more. Amazingly, it had been Dwalin who had comforted the grieving Hobbit and suggested that Bilbo could possibly assist with one of the boys or simply step out of the chamber if it was all too much.

            “I, eventually,” Bilbo said, gaining control of himself, “decided that leaving was inappropriate and I ...” Bilbo breathed a deep sigh and gave Kili a bittersweet smile. “I ended up helping with you.”

            Kili returned Bilbo’s smile. It went unsaid but Kili was touched.

            “But Dori, Ori and Bombur were a bit confused,” Bilbo said.

            “About what?”

            “They had your tunic all clean,” Bilbo stated, “But they were perplexed about a small pocket on the inside of the tunic.”

            Kili huffed a little laugh.

            “They couldn’t figure out what it was for. That was when I remembered Tauriel telling me of the runestone and lamenting that it kept falling out of your gloved hand, so I figured, given what the stone had meant, that maybe you had the pocket sewn there so that it was close to you.”

            “Actually,” Kili said, “Mum made me the tunic and the pocket was indeed for the stone.”

            “See,” Bilbo smiled and shrugged. “There you go.”

            “So you put the stone there?”

            “I suggested it and they didn’t argue. But yes, I took the stone and slipped it into the pocket before they finished dressing you.”

            “Well then, I thank you.”

            “I don’t think I’m the one to thank.”

            “I have a funny feeling that if you hadn’t put it there, it might not have worked. Mum told me to keep the stone in that pocket but I was always taking it out and messing around with it. It ended up in other pockets when I was done then the place it was suppose to be.”

            It was a rather sobering thought suddenly; what if Bilbo hadn’t put it where it truly belonged? Would he still be here tonight, grieving and alone? Thorin and the boys just a memory rather than quests.

            “After I woke,” Kili continued, “I only had to read the inscriptions etched around my sarcophagus to learn the truth. That was how I also learned about what befell Fili and Uncle Thorin.”

            Bilbo nodded.           

            “Immediately I removed the cover of Fili’s ... talk about a surreal event ... it was unsettling to gaze down on my brother’s lifeless body.”

            Bilbo could easily imagine it. The two were inseparable, so to have death divide them was probably far more than unsettling, but he wouldn’t correct Kili.

            “Since I knew I’d died and yet now lived, and remembering how hot the stone was when I pulled it from under my clothes, I got this mad idea that if I did the same to Fili ... maybe ... it would work on him too.”

            “And it did.”

            Kili nodded. “It took almost three days but it did.”

            “Three days?!”

            Kili nodded again.

            “Did you just ... sit there, staring at Fili’s body, waiting for something to happen for three days?”

            “No. Well ... not exactly. Shortly after I’d put the stone with Fili, I was discovered.”

            “By whom?”

            “Ori.”

            “Oh dear.”

            “To say he was surprised would be an understatement.”

            “Shocked more like it, I’m sure.”

            “He fainted.”

            “It’s a wonder he didn’t keel over dead himself,” Bilbo said dryly.

            Kili laughed and it was almost musical to Bilbo’s ears. “It did take me a bit to bring him around.”

            “Then what happened?”

            “After he woke and he put a good deal of space between him and I ... I quickly told him what I knew and what I suspected. Ori finally calmed enough to come close and touch me and that helped him realize that it was real and I was not some walking corpse or ... something equally foul.”

            “I’m sure it did.”

            “Ori was also informed me that we’d only been buried a day.”

            Now that was interesting. “So you woke a day afterwards, but Fili took almost three days to wake?”

            Kili nodded.

            “Ori ran off and got Dori and Balin. When they came, they were just as surprised ... but they didn’t faint.”

            Bilbo laughed a little. “I can’t imagine either of them doing that.”

            “No, you’re right.”

            “What did King Dain say?”

            “We kept it quiet at first. Just the company.”

            “I see.”

            “When Fili woke, everyone in the company was aware and they were overjoyed. At least at first.”

            “Why only at first? What happened?”

            “I’ll ... get to that.”

            Bilbo nodded but let Kili tell his tale.

            “With me and Fili awake, it was only natural that the next idea was to wonder ... would the stone work with Uncle. By this time it had been almost four days since we were all laid to rest, Dwalin was the one that thought too much time might have passed to hope that Uncle Thorin would wake. However, Fili and I felt we had to try.”

            Bilbo sat there, wondering at it all. The tale was so fantastic but still a bit disturbing.

            “It took almost a week for Uncle to wake.”

            “A week?!” Bilbo knew he shouldn’t be surprised. If Kili took a day and Fili three days, obviously the longer a body was buried the longer it would take to wake them. Before he could stop his train of thought, he wondered at how long someone would have to be ... dead ... for the stone not to work.

            “It was after Uncle Thorin woke up we realized the damage.”

            “Damage?”

            Kili nodded. “I had only lost a bit of memory; just the part of fighting Bolg and dying.”

            “Understandable.”

            “Fili had lost more memories,” Kili said. “He didn’t remember half the company.”

            “You mean their names?”

            Kili shook his head. “No. he didn’t remember them at all.”

            “Really?”

            “He remembered Ori and Bofur. Balin and Dwalin. But while he sort of remembered Oin, he had no clue who Gloin was, nor did he remember Dori, Nori, Bifur or Bombur.”

            “He knew you, though.”

            Kili nodded. “And he vaguely remembered you,” Kili said, pointing to Bilbo. “But we still had to fill him in a great many things.”

            “How many things?”

            “I’d have to say he doesn’t remember half his life.”

            Bilbo gaped; the thought was terrible.

            “Like, he had no idea where we were or what Erebor even was. He didn’t remember the dragon but he did recall bits of Laketown. He asked about Mum but had totally forgotten that we’d left her in The Blue Mountains.”

            Wait a minute. Bilbo’s mind added two and two together. “You really weren’t joking about your uncle.”

            Kili shook his head. “Uncle Thorin had it so much worse. He remembered nothing. Not Erebor, not the company, not Mum nor us. Smaug was just a name we bantered about as far as he was concerned. He didn’t even know his own name.”

            Bilbo closed his eyes. His poor Thorin, so lost and unsure; it was as heartbreaking as it was horrifying, to loose one’s entire life.

            “But he remembered you,” Kili said quietly. “And only you.”

            “Me.”

            Kili nodded. “He couldn’t remember your name, but he could describe you down to the smallest detail.”

            Bilbo couldn’t help the small smile that spread on his face.

            “He knew the color of your hair, your eyes, your clothes. He knew the sound of your voice and perfectly described your laugh. He knew of you furry feet—”

            Bilbo giggled at that.

            “—but even more so, he could tell us the feel of your skin, the touch of your hand. He could even describe the color of your blush.”

            Bilbo’s blush blossomed over his cheeks at its mention.

            “You were the first thing he asked for, when he woke and had his voice back. He demanded to know where his husband was.”

            “Husband?!”

            “We were confused at first, but when he started to describe you in every way, we knew what he meant.”

            “Didn't anyone correct his mistake?”

            “Balin tried once," Kili shrugged and and gave Bilbo an apologetic smile. "But Uncle Thorin didn’t believe him. Uncle said that there was no way he could love someone ... love you ... so much and not have the honor of being your husband.”

 

 

 


End file.
